A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss (8 page)

After she got out of this limo, she'd never see him again.

Dean clicked the button to answer his phone. “Dean Suminski.” He paused for a few seconds, then said, “Mrs. Flannigan. What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

He paused as the older woman talked. Suddenly feeling awful, missing Aasera, confused by all these feelings she had around Dean, Kristen buttoned her coat and slid across the seat to the limo door. Why prolong the inevitable? She barely knew him, and what she'd discovered only proved he was married to his business. And, really, she should be okay with their parting. She'd need all her mental and emotional energy to start her charity. Neither one of them had time for the other. Why belabor the issue with a goodbye in a busy hotel lobby?

Just when she would have opened the limo door, Dean caught her hand again.

“We'd love to. Seven tomorrow. We're looking forward to it.”

She faced him as he clicked off the call. Though she hated the way her breath stuttered when he held her hand, happiness filled her at the possibility that this wasn't goodbye.

“You have another event?”

“Yes and no.
We've
been invited to a private dinner with the Flannigans.” He smiled. His dark eyes lit with pleasure. “She wants to talk to
you
about your schools. Tomorrow night at seven.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“O
H
,
MY
GOSH
!
She wants to talk to
me
?”

Kristen looked at him, her stunning green eyes wide with excitement and he laughed. “You'll do fine.” She drew in a long breath. “I had a few hiccups in my confidence today.” She caught his gaze. “But you helped a lot.”

A wave a pleasure flowed through him, but he didn't let himself wallow in it. He might be with Kristen for another party, but he wouldn't indulge the emotions he experienced around her. Especially the relief he'd felt sharing his story about Nina. Not because he didn't like the feelings she inspired in him, he did. He liked them too much. Keeping his distance was for
her
protection.

“Here's what we'll do. We'll have Stella take you shopping tomorrow morning to get you an appropriate dress.”

She gasped. “She's going to have to take me some place inexpensive! I can't afford the clothes in Jennifer's boutique.”

He shook his head. “Whether you understand it or not, this dinner tomorrow night also works for me. While you talk with Mrs. Flannigan, I get a chance to chitchat with Arthur. She might own the business, but he's got influence over her.” He smiled. “Actually, I owe you for the fact that your charity is getting me extra time with them.”

“You just won't let this go, will you?”

“Not if you're about to pay for things that are helping me out.” Deciding the time for teasing was over, he sucked in a breath. “Seriously. Thank you. I need this extra time with them, and you and your charity are providing it.”

“Well, the dinner is supposed to be for me so I'm getting benefit too. That means there'll be no more agreements drawn up.”

He drew a cross on his chest. “I promise.”

Still in the limo, they placed a call to Jennifer at the boutique. Dean told her they needed a cocktail dress for the following night, and that Kristen would be in the next morning to look for one with Stella.

“Anything special I should pull for her to try on?”

“Just something pretty. We trust your judgment.” He caught Kristen's gaze and smiled. “And make it red.”

Kristen laughed as he clicked off the call. “Very funny.”

“I'm getting much better at being funny.”

She said, “You are,” as Dean pressed the button for the chauffeur, who came around and opened the door.

Kristen got out and he followed behind her. He walked her into the hotel lobby and almost escorted her to her room, but the feelings he'd been having around her all day kept growing. Now they were committed to another evening out. He needed the time with the Flannigans as much as Kristen did—so he couldn't pass up this chance.

But as he spoke with Mrs. Minerva Flannigan about dinner Sunday night, he'd had the oddest sense they really were becoming a couple, and though he knew it wasn't true, there was a part of him that wished it was.

That
was the real reason he couldn't walk her upstairs. He knew as surely as he knew his own name that if she gave him any sort of encouragement at all he'd kiss her. And then what?

Date?

Marry her?

The vision he'd had of him and Kristen in his master bedroom at his house in Albany filled his brain, and his chest tightened. How could he picture himself with a child when he had no clue how to be a father? How could he picture himself with someone as wonderful as Kristen when he was a stodgy workaholic who would get so involved in his projects and his business that he sometimes slept in his office?

How could he get involved with Kristen when he knew it would end...and knew, quite painfully, how paralyzing it was when a relationship ended. Nina might have died, but when she broke it off with him she'd outlined a hundred reasons they were wrong for each other, crushing his soul, reinforcing his beliefs that he shouldn't get involved in a real relationship.

His feelings for Kristen were wrong. He would stop them.

The elevator came. She stepped in and waved goodbye as the door closed, and he got back into the limo and headed for the sanctuary of his penthouse.

The limo stopped at his building, and he slid out and walked toward the glass revolving door, noticing an odd number of paparazzi hanging around. They came to attention when they saw him. One or two even snapped a picture. But neither of those things was unusual. First, the flirtatious daughter of a hedge fund manager lived in his building and she was a tabloid darling. Paparazzi were always around. Second, those who snapped pictures probably wanted a new file photo of him. God knew, there was nothing interesting about him walking into his building alone.

He breezed through the lobby, pausing only to say hello to the doorman. He used his code to get the private elevator to start and in a few seconds the door opened on his penthouse.

The whole place had been done in black and white, with berry-toned throw pillows and accent pieces. He wouldn't know a berry tone from a hole in the ground, but his decorator had told him that berry colors were all the rage, so that's what he'd gotten.

He ambled into his bedroom and the walk-in closet, and chose black boots, blue jeans and an oatmeal-colored sweater, the color of which he also wouldn't have known if Stella hadn't told him when she showed him the array of sweaters she'd chosen for him that winter.

He didn't know fashionable colors. He didn't put his own touches on his houses and condos because he didn't really have homes. He had places he stayed. He was cold. Emotionless. And that was reason number seven hundred and forty-one why a nice woman like Kristen should stay away from him.

It was also reason number one that Nina had said she could never fall in love with him. Never really want to be with him.

He was cold. Not heartless. Just distanced from the world because of his genius and the way he was raised. He really didn't know how to connect.

Not wanting to think about Nina or Kristen anymore, and the yearning for something he knew he couldn't have, he grabbed the four newspapers he had delivered every morning.

Sitting on his sofa, he rifled through until he got to the
New York City Guardian
. He flipped it open but one section popped out and slid to the floor. The society pages. Without thought, he bent to pick it up, but there on the front page, bigger than was comfortable, was a picture of him and Kristen.

And he was laughing.

The photo itself confused him, reminding him of how differently he behaved with her. He slowly brought the paper up from the floor, staring at the picture first, then reading the caption.

Is the Iceman of Suminski Stuff falling in love?

His gut clenched. His gaze jumped to the article that detailed the troubles with his company and the article in
Tech Junkie
.

Crap.

But the worst were the closing lines.

Could the confirmed bachelor billionaire be dating someone? We doubt it. He has enough money that he doesn't have to meet women the old-fashioned way.

If innuendos could kill, he'd be dead right now. They'd all but suggested he'd hired Kristen.

And he had.

He dropped his head to his hands, then called his driver and told him to be in front of the building in ten minutes. After slipping into his black leather bomber jacket and gloves, he scooped the paper off his sofa before heading for the elevator.

Outside his building, as his limo pulled up and he raced to the door, the whir of cameras followed him.

Damn it.

* * *

In the bathroom of her suite, Kristen stood in the fluffy white robe debating. Shower or bubble bath? The room came equipped with any supplies she could possibly need, and though the shower gel was nice, the bubble bath crystals smelled divine. It was a sinful, wonderful, guilty pleasure to have the rest of the afternoon and all of the evening to herself to do what she wanted, and she was taking full advantage.

She chose the bubble bath, started the water and poured in the crystals, which instantly became iridescent foam. Immersed in bubbles, she closed her eyes. Unfortunately, as she sank into the water she thought about Dean.

After hearing his story about Nina, she realized she knew
nothing
about being used. Brad was a man who wanted money and power, and he did what he had to do to get it. Unashamedly. Almost embarrassingly obviously. If Kristen had opened her eyes, she'd have easily seen it.

But using an inexperienced nineteen-year-old to make another boyfriend jealous? Kristen couldn't even imagine what Dean had felt when Nina had told him. It was no wonder he had so much pride. And no wonder he disliked mixing business with pleasure, given that it was Nina's father who had set them up as a condition to giving Dean money.

It was perfectly understandable that the situation had scarred him. This also explained his need for agreements and rules. She actually admired him for pulling himself together as much as he had. In the years that followed Nina and her father using him, and a world leader hating him, Dean had built an empire.

So she couldn't feel sorry for him. He certainly didn't feel sorry for himself. But she also couldn't stop herself from coupling his difficult beginnings—losing his parents, being raised by a grandmother who didn't want him—to being publicly humiliated when he tried to get funding.

It was no wonder he not only noticed but understood when her confidence wobbled.

Sunk neck-deep in bubbles, she almost cursed when the phone rang. Not sure who it might be, since she'd called her parents and given them her hotel room number in case anything happened, she got out of the tub, slid into the fluffy terry cloth robe and grabbed the extension in the bathroom.

“Yes.”

“It's me. Dean. Can I come up?”

She grimaced. “Now?”

“It's important.”

“Okay. I'm just getting out of the tub. Give me five minutes.”

She hastily dried, dressed in the jeans and red sweater he'd bought for her to wear home, and combed out her hair. Because it was an unruly mass, she twisted it into a bun before she walked into the sitting room. A few seconds later, there was a knock on her door.

Expecting Dean, she opened it.

He handed a newspaper to her. “I'm sorry.”

She glanced down at it and saw it was folded to display a picture of them printed on the first page of that section.

“Oh-oh.”

“It's not a big deal, except they suggest that I hired you to date me.”

She laughed. “They're sort of right.”

“Yes. They are.” He ambled into her sitting room. “We have a written agreement that proves it.”

She really liked the way he looked in the leather jacket and boots. Though a suit gave him an air of power, the jacket, jeans and boots made him look strong, male, virile.

She pulled back from that train of thought before she had to fan herself. “So we have an argreement? No one will see it.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face. “No, no one will see it. But this is the kind of gossip I don't need when my company's in trouble.”

“Really? I don't understand how it relates.”

“I look like a lunatic.”

Because she'd just run through all the attributes of how he “looked” she thoroughly disagreed. But even though Kristen herself never had to worry about the press, Princess Eva did. Like it or not, think it was funny or not, Kristen understood.

“You know, you didn't hire me for tomorrow night's dinner.”

He sucked in a breath. “So?”

“So it kind of, sort of, is a real date.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, if we went out—right now for instance, when, again, you're not paying me—and saw some sights and then got dinner, we would officially be dating.”

“And if someone saw us—like the photographers following me—then we'd look official.”

She shook her head. “No. Get into the spirit of this. We won't
look
official. We
will be
dating.”

He met her gaze. “Oh.”

She sighed. “Thanks for your enthusiastic response.”

“I'm sorry. I just don't date.”

“And you wonder why the press prints crazy articles about you?”

He laughed.

She smiled. “See? Dating me is not so bad. Especially since I come with a shelf life. I have to go home sometime.”

“No ugly breakup.”

“Exactly.”

He pondered that for a second before he said, “Grab your coat. We're going to Rockefeller Center.”

Since she was wearing jeans, she got her old black wool coat from the closet by the door. “Sounds promising.”

“Every tourist goes there. They have a big Christmas tree.”

“Fun!”

He pulled in a breath. “I suppose.”

Kristen shook her head, but didn't scold him about being a Scrooge. Knowing his story, she could easily see why all this would be new to him.

Out on the sidewalk, a couple of guys in winter jackets—trying to be inconspicuous about holding cameras—followed them to Rockefeller Center. Obviously, they were members of the press Dean was so worried about.

She didn't have to point them out. She was fairly certain Dean saw them, but he pretended he didn't. So she pretended too. When he started talking about her charity, she let him.

“You're going to need a board of advisors.”

She skipped along the sidewalk, working to keep up with his long strides. A light snow began to fall, and she inhaled deeply, suddenly homesick for fresh snow, her mom's homemade gingerbread cookies and the way the sun dipped at about three in the afternoon, making the world a silent, peaceful place. Even on a Saturday, New York City was mad, noisy, filled with life and energy.

“I know I'll need advisors. In fact, I'm counting on advisors helping me through the things I don't know.”